


Rogue Bulgarians

by Fiorenza_a



Series: Dagenham & The Bay of Naples [2]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle was a g*t. Truth universally acknowledged. Doyle was also naked. Which usually made up for the g*tdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rogue Bulgarians

Doyle was a git. Truth universally acknowledged.

Doyle was also naked. Which usually made up for the gitdom. And sweating. Score another one for the lad. And not doing anything connected with the bedroom. Git.

Doyle had announced that he would be adopting a regimen, and the pretentious pillock had actually used those words, of callisthenics.

Callis-bloody-thenics. I ask you. From where had the dozy pillock dredged up that little piece of yesteryear? Bodie was all for exercise. Was never averse to seeing Doyle sweat. Would have happily bought tickets to see Doyle sweat naked; particularly when they were alone in a flat and had two days off, but he was buggered if he was going to see it wasted on...well...not being buggered.

Bodie was also naked. Naked and nursing a knife wound. Nursing a knife wound and flat on his back, sprawled the length of the sofa, hands folded carefully behind his head. Alternating his attention between the growing mound of interest below his navel and the things his git of a partner was doing to elicit said interest.

Irresistible little sod was lithe, had to give him that. Lithe and supple. Growing mound of interest paying particular attention to that little one-two.

Bodie shifted his hips. Doyle had been a detective. Detectives had trained powers of observation. Even mouthy little sods with an insubordinate streak of integrity.

Mouthy little sod folded over to touch the ground between his ankles with the palms of his hands, grunting with the effort. Bodie groaned. His shoulder throbbed. Other parts of him solidly in sympathy with it. Heartless bastard was going to torture him to death.

''You alright sunshine?'' Heartless bastard had stopped and was looking concerned. Well concerned, sweaty, irresistibly dishevelled and wanton. Couldn't help the wanton. Doyle could look wanton queuing for chips.

Bodie decided honesty was the best policy. ''Shoulder.''

''Get you some pills.''

''Don't want bloody pills.'' Bodie looked pointedly at the part of him announcing what he did want.

''Have to finish me exercises. Important to keep to a routine.'' Doyle stretched in front of him, tormenting him in ways Bodie was sure had to be covered by the Geneva Convention ''Can't stop now.''

Bodie reconsidered and decided sulking was the best policy. Well, sulking and pouting.

Doyle stopped stretching, hair flopping down to settle in an untidy bird's nest around his ears. Like an extra feature Doyle's hair, could be just as expressive too, but it was his very talented mouth that added ''Get round to that in a bit. Need to finish this first.''

And then, there he was, bloody stretching again. Bodie pouted harder. Doyle was an abrasive little sod, but he did have some soft spots and Bodie's pout was one of them. Pout long enough and Doyle just might give in. Doyle winked mischievously at him. Bastard. Pouting wasn't going to work then.

Still Bodie could be a little wanton himself, if he put his mind to it. And his mind was definitely being put to it. Didn't have much choice; what with Mr 'look but don't touch' writhing about in front of him. And when he wasn't doing that, the thoughtless bastard was bending and contorting. Muscles working under the skin. Displaying himself with careless abandon as he moved through his sodding regimen. A bloke could get a bloody aneurysm watching that.

Bodie wrested the arm attached to his good shoulder from under his head and allowed the hand to hover above his chest. Fingers strumming gently between his nipples. Eyes absorbed by their movement. Immersing himself in their delicate rhythm. Meditating on self arousal.

As the distractions in his mind faded he allowed the fingers to explore further. Feeling every nuance of their subtle almost-touch as they slowly skirted his nipples and passed along the furrowed line of his ribs. His stomach tightening in anticipation of their arrival. Waiting and tingling with faint traces of electricity. The delicate tracery of his own touch beginning to set a fire in his sensitised nerve endings.

His lips parted as his fingers traversed the soft flesh of his stomach. Whispering against the skin. His eyes closed and he drew his bottom lip in against his teeth as his tormented nerves began to skirt the edges of agony.

Finally his fingers brushed against the hair which promised an end to their questing and he bit down on his lip as he took hold of himself. Lost in his own pleasure as he worked his inflamed flesh with practised hands. Pleasing himself without shame. Coming without remorse. Convulsed in joy.

As his breathing settled he realised the flat was blanketed in silence. He had been aware of such silences before. Sometimes. After a shooting or an explosion. When the shock of it made everything seem to hold its breath before all the noise and every day confusion took hold again. Sacred moments of stillness that may have existed nowhere but in his own perception.

''What the hell was that?'' Doyle's voice was caught between incredulity and awe.

''Told you I didn't want pills.''

''No, you want bloody certifying.'' Doyle sounded oddly angry. Bit strange that. But then Doyle could be a bit strange. Unfathomable sometimes. Probably nothing to worry about. This was Doyle. Didn't exactly bottle it up, Doyle. More thermonuclear in his approach. If something was wrong he'd be told. In no uncertain terms, possibly at the end of a fist.

Bodie felt content with the world. Content, peaceful and sleepy. His eyes drifted shut and he made an endearing little animal snuffling noise as he drifted off. Everything clearly right in his world.

Doyle stood over him. Nothing right in his. Bodie had looked...what? Ecstatic. Yes that was it, beyond mere satisfied. He had looked ecstatic. Like pictures of saints transported by religion. Something sacred in his pleasure.

And he had never looked like that with Doyle. Bloody bastard. Where did that leave them? Did that mean what they had was some second best Bodie had settled for? Because it didn't feel like that to Doyle. The daft pillock was all he wanted. Couldn't imagine wanting anything else. Not now. It was all Bodie.

Bodie slept the sleep of the just and woke about two hours later. Shoulder announcing itself as tender and Doyle announcing his status by sitting in the kitchen with a face like thunder. Great. Shoulder acting up he could cope with. Doyle acting up was a whole different magnitude of problem. He considered feigning sleep to prolong the quiet life, but in the end Doyle and whatever was eating at him had to be faced. Might as well get a cuppa and face it. Cowley would be proud. Into the valley of death rode the six hundred.

He eased himself off the sofa, the cheap frame creaking under him. When were they getting some decent furniture? The noise alerted Doyle immediately. Of course it did. Reflexes of a snake that one.

''Hello mate'' he tried. Doyle still looked inexplicably angry, and something else as well. He couldn't put a finger on it. Melancholy maybe? Melancholy fitted but it made no sense.

''What are you doing here?'' Doyle asked.

OK, like that was it? Sometimes Doyle could be more hard work than any four birds he knew. ''Want me to leave? 'Cos I think I should have a shower first.''

''No, I mean it Bodie. What are you doing here?...With me?''

OK that was definitely one you didn't answer without a cup of tea inside you. If you had any sense, that was one you didn't answer at all. He put the kettle on. Could get you through a blitz, putting the kettle on. He watched it boil. Better than watching Doyle. Doyle looked like he was already boiling. He'd only been asleep a couple of hours. What the friggin' hell could have happened in a couple of hours?

Kettle coming to the boil, he fished around in the cupboards for a teapot and loose tea. Gods of prevarication with him, he found a packet of Red Label and a Brown Betty. He set about swilling the teapot under the hot tap and spooned in three heaps of tea before pouring on the just-off-the-boil water and leaving the magic properties of the venerated pottery to work their wonders with the tea, while he searched for mugs and a tea strainer. He could feel Doyle's baleful gaze on him the whole while.

A man of unshakable convictions when it came to tea, he poured the tea first and then added the milk. Then looking at Doyle he added three sugars for himself and two generously heaped for Doyle. Little bugger looked like he needed sweetening.

He passed Doyle his tea, took a sip of his own and leapt into the dark like any good Para would do. ''What's all this about then mate?''

Doyle eyed him malevolently. Sometime in the last two hours Doyle had got dressed. Bodie had his rules about nakedness, but none of them precluded his being comfortable propping himself up against the kitchen worktop, sipping tea under the less than rosy glare of his lover's murderous gaze.

''You never look like that with me.''

''Look like what?'' Nitro and glycerin, that was his Doyle. Agitate at your peril.

''Like you did on the sofa. Like you were...'' Doyle stopped, he looked...sodding hell...he looked embarrassed. ''...Ecstatic''

No bloody wonder. Who used a word like 'ecstatic'? He had looked ecstatic? Well it had been good. He grinned a bit into his tea, but not so as Doyle could see him. Even Tommy McKay hadn't been that crazy. But it wasn't as good as it was with Doyle. Infuriating little basket did have his uses.

''Told you I didn't want pills'' Bodie pointed out. Again. Getting a bit monotonous trying to get that one through. Except now his shoulder was playing up he wasn't so sure he didn't want a pill.

''I've never made you like that'' Doyle was back to melancholy. Moods as kaleidoscopic as the colour of his eyes. But anger would be simmering under there somewhere. It always was with Doyle.

''Well it's different with someone else...'' A flash of eyes. Wrong thing to say. Definitely the wrong thing to say. Maybe two seconds left to diffuse it.

''What the bloody hell does that mean?'' Too late. Angry Doyle standing in the middle of the kitchen. And worse, Doyle angry because he wasn't about to give in to hurt and confused. Bollocks. Stuffed this one right up. Why couldn't Doyle just turn off his brain and accept that they were together. Didn't matter why, only mattered that they were. Not sure there was enough tea in China to get them through this one. Had to try though. Worth any amount of agro the temperamental pillock could throw at him.

''I mean when you're with someone else you think about them. When it's DIY you only think about yourself.'' Pretty much what he meant, he was sure.

Doyle didn't look impressed. And the hurt and confusion had moved closer to the surface. Bloody bollocks. He loved Doyle. Doyle loved him. How complicated did it need to be? Frustrated, he nearly blurted that out, but some errant angel flitted past and stopped him. When his brain found the time to catch up with his mouth he was as relieved as any other close call would have made him. Doyle could be recklessly destructive when he was hurting like this.

And Doyle was hurting. Over him. Over some imagined inability to please him. If you stopped to think about it, it would take your breath away.

''I love you'' he announced, because he did.

''Because I'm here, because I'm convenient. You've got a better sodding relationship with your fist than you have with me. Don't try to deny it. It was bloody obvious. Don't know why I couldn't see it. You must think I'm a right muppet.''

Bodie sighed, exasperated, honesty wasn't really working for him today. This wasn't what he was good at. Sympathy he could do. And shooting people. Compassion and killing; his twin virtues. After that it just got complicated and he wasn't good at complicated.

''Ray, I can't help how it looked. Doesn't mean anything. Always thought it was pretty good, you and me.''

''Yeah 'pretty good', not ecstatic. Not like the bloody heavens blessed the union.''

''For crying out loud Ray. It was my bloody fist'' he flexed the fingers of the offending hand for emphasis ''What d'you think I'm gonna do? Run off with it and set up a little love nest on Hampstead Heath?''

''I don't care if you set up a bloody love nest with Great Uncle Bulgaria.''

Bodie's erratic sense of humour choked on that one, causing him to snort tea. ''Wimbledon'' he corrected in undertone, hoping it hadn't just made things worse.

''What?'' snarled Doyle.

''Great Uncle Bulgaria, Wimbledon not Hampstead. Wombles of Wimbledon Common'' he recited with the caution of a man tickling trout.

''Bloody Wombles'' said Doyle, but in it there was the bare hint of humour and with it the faint hope of reconciliation. Delicate buds both.

''Can't help what it looked like'' he repeated, easing his tea mug down on the work surface behind him. Never taking his eyes from Doyle, wound tight as a mainspring in the middle of the kitchen. ''Just needed a bit of relief.''

Doyle was vibrating with a bizarrely vulnerable hostility. He'd be worth a bloody fortune if you could wire that into the National Grid.

He moved slowly from the work surface and cautiously towards Doyle. The defensive electricity went screaming up, but Doyle held his ground. Tough little bugger was Doyle.

Bodie slowly raised a hand to Doyle's tea mug and took it from his grasp, leaning backwards to the furthest extent of his reach to set it on the kitchen table. Then he returned to the perpendicular with the sinuous elegance of a jungle cat. All predator. Doyle met his gaze with an unsteady defiance. Little beggar wouldn't give in easily. Needed the reassurance. Didn't work for something you didn't want, did you?

He brought his hands up to the first of the shirt buttons Doyle had bothered to do up. They both inclined their heads to watch Bodie's fingers undo it and continued to watch them as they worked their way down until they tugged the shirt tails from Doyle's jeans, wrestling the last of the buttons open, pushing the shirt off his shoulders to hang from his arms. Doyle raised his head then and Bodie's rose with it. Doyle's eyes were wide and questioning.

Never taking his eyes from that questioning gaze, Bodie silently took one wrist in his hands and released the cuff, then he did the same with the other and tugged at the shirt sleeves until the shirt fell noiselessly in a heap at Doyle's heels.

Then he leaned forward and murmured ''Boots sunshine'' into Doyle's ear. It took an age for Doyle to react, but when he did he concertinaed in on himself until he was sitting on the kitchen floor and tugging at his boots. After he had the boots off he removed the socks, balling them together and throwing them half-heartedly across the kitchen. Then he just sat there, contemplating the toes at the end of his folded legs like a two year old.

Bodie came down to meet him on the floor and tugged playfully at his belt buckle. ''These need to come off too sunshine'' he said.

Doyle's eyes came up to meet his. ''Not sure I want to.''

''Then we have a bit of a problem don't we me old lad?'' said Bodie gently.

''Why are you here?'' Doyle asked again and this time there was no heat in it, no hurt, just a leaden curiosity.

Bodie groaned inwardly. Doyle had two hours head start on him with this and Doyle's inventive little mind would have travelled every dark avenue in that time.

''Because it's where you are'' he said. And he meant it. And he hoped it was enough, because in the end it was all he had.

Doyle's head tipped down again and he began mechanically pulling at his belt buckle, fumbling the task badly but refusing to abandon it. Bodie recognised those signs and caught the stubbornly determined chin and tipped the head back up. There were tears now, blurring the vision, leaching away the defiance. He reached out his own hand and put an end to the struggle with the belt buckle. He wasn't looking for any kind of reward for what he had said. It was just how things stood. How they were. How they should be. The dozy pillock needed to understand that before those jeans came off.

''Come on'' he said, pulling Doyle off the floor. He pushed him out of the kitchen, through the living room and towards the bedroom. As their destination became evident Doyle's feet started to drag, until paces from the bedroom door they dug themselves into the carpet and refused to budge any further. Bodie, still behind him, wrapped his arms round Doyle, pinning Doyle's arms to his sides, and leaned forward to intone quietly into his ear ''I want you to trust me. We need to be in there.''

Doyle's nod was an unco-ordinated affair, as were the rest of his movements as he passed through the doorway and into the bedroom. Bodie skirted carefully round him and climbed onto the bed. ''Come on sunshine'' he encouraged when Doyle just stood looking at him ''you need to be here too. Not going to work without you.''

Doyle looked down and started to fumble with his belt buckle again. Bodie came off the bed to stop him. ''No, just as you are sunshine'' he instructed ''just as you are.'' Doyle looked confused but complied, crawling onto the bed after Bodie.

Bodie lay back down on the bed and brought one of Doyle's hands up to his chest. He unfurled the tense fingers and brushed them against himself, between his nipples as he'd done with his own hours earlier. ''Like this'' he instructed. Doyle nodded mechanically but seemed to grasp what was being asked of him. Bodie released his hold and Doyle continued to brush Bodie's chest untutored until he had the art of it and then he moved his hands across Bodie, as Bodie had moved across himself. Barely brushing, whispering touches, teasing the nerves, confusing the signals until pain and pleasure met and Bodie's eyes rolled back and he groaned. A delicate smile bloomed on Doyle's face as he trailed his fingers ever downwards. Bodie was more than ready when his fingers finally reached the end of their journey. He stroked the hard flesh once with the same teasing lightness, eliciting a sound he'd never heard from Bodie before, and then began to work his fingers with an assured confidence. Knowing what pleased. Knowing what satisfied. Watching Bodie's face as his breathing tightened and he came. Watching afterwards as Bodie's eyes settled on him, lit with love and need and trust. A sacrament more profound than anything he'd seen on the sofa.

Bodie watched as the fragile smile on Doyle's face grew more solid and assured.

''See what you needed?'' he asked.

Doyle nodded and moved up to snuggle into his arms.

''Good'' he said ''because you scared me.''

It was a simple, uncomplicated admission, quietly spoken. And it was the whole world.

''Been a pillock'' said Doyle with equal simplicity.

And because Bodie was Bodie and would never change, he grinned, squeezed Doyle to him and said ''Don't worry about it mate, can't all be me.''

''Git,'' responded Doyle.

 

END

 

 

Wombles created by [Elisabeth Beresford](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elisabeth_Beresford)

 

 


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